"All the Tea in China" - читать интересную книгу автора (Orcutt Jane)

8

We never did open the Gospel that day. I wanted to learn words and characters right away, confident that I could memorize them as fast as he could create them in the sand. Snowe must have sensed my impatience, for at one point he admonished that I must learn the basics first before the bigger lessons would follow.

Though he would not speak it, he did seem pleased by my progress. By the time the crew politely shooed us from the dining room table to prepare the two o’clock dinner, I had learned the eight strokes and the proper order for making them. At first when I watched Snowe create the mysterious lines, I had thought it easy. Then I realized how carefully one must make the hooks and wings that completed some of the strokes. It was difficult enough using a chopstick in the sand. I could only imagine how difficult it would be to create on paper in ink!

Snowe said nothing of our lessons to me or anyone else at dinner; in fact, he seemed to go to great lengths to remove the sand from the cuddy before everyone arrived. He also tucked the chopstick back into his jacket without a word. I met his secrecy with approval for I had no desire to explain myself to Mrs. Akers or any of the others.

Miss Whipple joined our group that day, but to my estimation, none of the other passengers were aware of her reputation. Captain Malfort treated her with all courtesy as well, but I noticed that she did not have a seat of honor, only one below the salt. Unfortunately, so did Mr. Gilpin. I might have imagined it, but I believe that he glared at her the entire meal. Could he not be courteous, at least, in the presence of others?

After dinner, Snowe and I had every intention of returning to our lessons. I was eager to continue, and he, for once, did not seem reluctant. The crew was cleaning the cuddy, so we headed out to the deck. The midshipmen struggled at their lessons, and I noticed that Gilpin drilled Mr. Calow most religiously in knot making. Judging from the cheerful expression on Calow’s face, I had to say that he must have been practicing. Unfortunately, it was far too windy for Snowe and me to contemplate any lessons using the box of sand, so we strolled the deck, staying clear of the midshipmen so that we would not disturb them.

A gust of wind blew at my hair. “Oh!” I clutched the pins so that they would not be swept overboard. I was certain that my hair was most displeasing to look at and said as much.

Phineas’s expression softened. “I assure you that is not so,” he said in a low voice, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear then handing me a bit of leather. “You can use this to tie back your hair. Would you like me to keep the pins in my pocket?”

“No, thank you, the leather should suffice.” I secured my hair, frowning. “My, but I have never seen such an ill wind.”

Phineas did not respond but stared at the horizon. I followed his gaze and saw billowing dark clouds. The wind seemed to howl, the waves increasing in size as they lashed against the ship. At a superior officer’s command, the midshipmen scattered from their lessons, each one charged with a duty to secure the ship’s safety.

Mr. Gilpin caught sight of us and approached. The wind had intensified so quickly that he was forced to shout. “The captain has ordered everyone below deck. We’ve encountered a squall. Mr. Snowe…?”

“Right,” he yelled. “I will see my sister to our cabin.”

Gilpin nodded then turned to bark an order to the crew about the sails. Snowe led the way, and I obediently followed. The wind had increased so violently, the waves turned so treacherous. We had had such smooth sailing till now that I had been lulled into thinking that our journey would be no more dangerous than a boat ride on the Thames. The Dignity, though large, suddenly seemed quite vulnerable as she listed first to port then starboard, buffeted among the waves. To my way of thinking, it would take but one swell to heave her on her side. I had read of shipwrecks, of course, even East India Company shipwrecks, which suddenly pushed me beyond my books and daydreams into ruthless reality.

The ship rocked to and fro most alarmingly. Rain pounded our heads and backs like myriad dull daggers. I cried out, surprised by the painful force. Snowe turned back and wrapped his arm around me, raising his coat to shield me as much as possible from the onslaught.

We staggered safely below deck, but to my shame, I whimpered. “We are almost there, Isabella,” Phineas said soothingly. “We will be safe.”

He led me into the cabin and closed the door behind us. Rain and wind blew through the porthole, and he struggled valiantly to shutter it. Yet I could still hear the raging noise beyond.

I stood in the middle of the room, dripping, wetter than I ever imagined possible, and all I could do was cry. I was not a female easily given to tears, and I was embarrassed by the emotion that washed over me. I tried to turn away from Snowe so that he would not see my weakness. To my surprise, however, he touched my face. “You should get undressed,” he said softly.

I stepped back in horror, tears abated. “Wh-what? I most certainly will not!”

He moved to his side of the room and raised the canvas between our hammocks. “You need to get out of your wet clothes, Isabella,” he said. “Otherwise, you might take ill.”

I heard a flint strike, then saw a candle’s glow. “I will light this long enough for us to see by, then I’ll douse the flame. We do not want to risk a fire.”

Even though he could not see me, I nodded, already divesting myself of the sodden clothing. I let them fall to the floor, not caring that the ugliest dress in Christendom would have to dry before I could wear it again. My nightgown was dry, and I slipped into it eagerly, shivering from the chill.

“Isabella, I have an extra blanket that I would like to bring you,” he said. “Will you be alarmed if I approach your side of the canvas?”

“N-no,” I said, teeth chattering as I climbed into my hammock and pulled my only blanket up to my chin. “You may approach.”

Tentatively he lifted the end of the canvas, his eyes downcast so as to avoid mine. I tried not to look at him either, but I could not help notice that his hair was unbound and he was wrapped in a blanket. Whatever else he wore, I could not tell. In truth, I did not want to know!

He handed me the blanket and hastened back to his side. I heard him blow out the candle, and what meager light we had was now gone. I settled into my hammock, trying to find some warmth. Even the extra blanket did not seem to help much. Snowe must have heard my shivering. “Are you very cold?”

“I’m afraid that I am,” I confessed. “I cannot get warm.”

Rain, or perhaps waves, lashed against the porthole most cruelly. A flash of lightning jagged across the pane, and my hammock tilted at an alarming angle. I cried without thinking. “Phineas!”

“It will be all right, Isabella,” he said, his voice an anchor of calm. “It is but a small storm, I am certain. It will pass, the sun will shine, and you will wonder why you were so frightened.”

Aggravating man! “I know why I am frightened,” I said, amazed at the high pitch in my voice, a distinct opposite of his own. “I am afraid of being killed. I… I do not want to drown. If you have any sense, you would be afraid of the same thing!”

“I will not let you drown. I promised to keep you safe, and I will not go back on my word.”

I laughed in spite of my fear. “Your word? When am I to trust your word?”

“Believe me on this if nothing else, Isabella Goodrich. I will keep you safe.”

The ship lurched, my hammock swayed far to the right then back again violently. I feared that it would be loosed from its mooring and I would be flung across the room. Even the canvas shielding me from Snowe’s view flapped about.

Everything righted for a moment, and in the interim, I mentally took myself-and Snowe-to task. How could he be so calm and undisturbed over there? It was I who wanted to be a missionary and help the poor and downtrodden, yet I squeaked like a mouse at the first sign of danger.

The ship rolled, and I clutched the sides of my hammock, praying fervently. If the apostle Paul experienced and survived half my fear when his ship wrecked, I could well understand why he earned the title of saint!

“Isabella, you are interested in swords and fencing, yes?”

Where did that question originate? “Yes, of course!” I answered, keeping one eye on the porthole. Lashed by the waves and wind, it appeared that any moment water would burst in and overtake us.

“If you would learn about the Chinese, you should learn some of the stories they tell, great myths about powerful men and women who battle for justice against villains.”

His words had the obvious desired effect of piquing my curiosity. “You speak of heroes? Women?”

“Yes, not only men. Often they were wanderers who were skilled in combat but only fought when necessary,” he said.

“To right wrongs?”

“Yes.”

“They sound much like knights of British myth. Like King Arthur and his knights of the round table.”

“It is not quite the same,” he said. “These heroes, called hup, were not nobility. They could be, of course, but could also come from a humbler background. They did not have quests, either, but were often wanderers.”

“So they roamed the countryside with no purpose?”

“Their goal was adventure, and they could be hired, but they did not seek to line their pockets so much as to uphold honor and justice. Their word could not be violated.”

That prevents you from numbering yourself among them, Phineas Snowe! I do not know why he spoke of such warriors when he was so far from them himself. However, listening to his description took my mind off the storm outside, and indeed, I believed I felt myself warming. “Tell me more,” I said. “Do you know any actual stories, or is your purpose merely to inform?”

“I have heard a mo hup tale or two. Mo means having to do with martial arts, the military, or war, and hup is the hero of the story. It also means chivalry.”

“Like King Arthur and his knights.”

Snowe sighed. “As I said, it is not quite the same, Isabella.”

If there was anything I preferred to fencing, it was a well-told story. Storm and danger receded, and I settled into my hammock. “Then spin a tale and let me judge for myself.”

Spin he did, his words holding me spellbound. He told the tale of Wo-Ping, a hup who appeared in a village called Hu-King one day with little more than his sword. In exchange for food and a place to sleep, he worked for a farmer near the village. The next day another hup arrived, a woman, Mei. The villagers suspected her motives, and though she was lovely, she had a heart as hard as the soil after a rain. Unfortunately for the villagers and Wo-Ping, they did not know about the sword she kept hidden in the haystack nor how wrong they would be about the condition of her heart.

I did not know if Phineas merely recounted a story he had heard before or if he wove the tale even as he spoke it, but something happened to me that night as he sought to calm my fears of the storm. I no longer heard the voice of Phineas Snowe, but the narrator of a great tale. He drew me into the land and the characters with their struggle for yi, or righteousness. I was transfixed by the notion of a woman who hungered and thirsted for such.

Just as he reached a crucial point in the story, he suddenly stopped speaking. I was all but poised at the edge of my hammock, waiting for him to continue.

“We are past the storm,” he said.

“Storm? There is no storm in Hu-King. Go on.”

“I spoke of the Dignity, Isabella.”

I blinked. I no longer saw the village or the woman with the sword but the canvas hanging between my hammock and Snowe’s. I rolled over to face the porthole and saw that the sun was shining once again. We had survived.

“Are you warmer now?” he said gently.

“Yes, thank you.” I spied my discarded clothing on the floor. “But I am afraid I have nothing to wear. I cannot be seen in my nightgown, after all.”

I heard him rise from his hammock, then the rustle of clothing. “Perhaps Julia Whipple has something else that you may borrow. In the meantime, perhaps you should rest. I do not want you to catch a chill. I will bring you some tea.”

“I do not suppose you have green to share?” I said hopefully, like a child. Indeed, I felt quite under his spell at the moment.

“I have some leaves in my trunk,” he said. “After I have seen Julia, I will bring you some.”

The door closed after him. Surely when he returned I would see what else was in the mysterious trunk besides, apparently, tea. I huddled under my two blankets, not from the cold now, but from the memory of the story. I felt an odd sort of kinship with the man who had calmed my fears and fired my intrigue. Had it truly been Phineas Snowe who thrilled my imagination by taking me to a foreign land? I could not wait for Mei to recover the sword from hiding and use it to show Wo-Ping that she was not the heartless woman he thought her. Phineas had not even described what type of swords Mei and Wo-Ping possessed, and I longed to hear their descriptions. And what of the two hup? Would Mei be forced to fight Wo-Ping? What would be her initial approach? Surely she would be calm and allow Wo-Ping to exhaust himself by attacking with his sword first so that she could study his weaknesses and take full advantage. Or would he do the same with her?

I did not realize that I spent hours picturing the swordplay in my mind. At last I realized from the angle of the sun through the porthole that it had been quite a long time since Snowe had left the room. I could not imagine what had detained him.

Then I remembered that he had gone to Miss Whipple. Julia, he had called her. What else-who else-could have kept him for such a great length of time? My spirits sank, my enthusiasm dampened as greatly as the dress lying on the cabin floor. How could he weave a magical tale, drawing me into a world of his making, then abandon me for Julia Whipple?

When I heard the door finally open, I pretended sleep, even when on my wooden crate he laid a fresh dress and a cup of tea. Let it grow cold!

I felt betrayed. Indeed, Miss Whipple and Snowe seemed to have their heads together the rest of the day. They strolled the deck, laughing and conversing while the crew made busy repairing the damage the storm had wrought and mopping the deck. The sun shone brightly now, but it might as well have been pitch black and the ship storm-tossed for my mood. I did not understand why Snowe would seemingly abandon me for Miss Whipple’s company. It is true that I was not, in fact, his sister, but we had shared something during the storm through his story, something akin to closeness that we had never had. I was bewildered at his reactions, and my own, as well.

The dress Miss Whipple had loaned me was gray this time, a light cotton that made me think of a dove or a pigeon. Naturally I was grateful to have dry clothing, but I could not help but desire something a little more fashionable to wear. It was difficult to remind myself that missionaries should have an attitude like the lilies of the field, but I believe that even flowers dressed more fashionably than I.

I took several turns around the deck, keeping an eye on Miss Whipple and Phineas. Midshipman Calow was kind enough to inquire about my health after the storm, avowing that it was not nearly the worst he had seen in his young life at sea. Mr. Gilpin joined us and agreed. They were both gentlemanly enough to reserve criticism when they heard of my distress at the tossing nature of the ship during the worst of the storm.

“Mr. and Mrs. Akers were both violently ill,” Mr. Calow reported cheerfully. “They did not even manage to toss their dinners into a bucket. One of the seamen is cleaning up their cabin now.”

Mr. Gilpin gave him a silencing glance. “That is no fit talk for a lady, Mr. Calow.”

“Aye, sir. I’m sorry, sir. I beg your pardon, Miss Goodrich.”

I had rather enjoyed the strong image his words evoked regarding the Akers, but I suppressed a smile. “All is forgiven.”

“Mr. Calow, climb up and check the rigging, if you please,” Mr. Gilpin said.

“Aye, sir.” Mr. Calow saluted then scrambled up the ropes.

I smiled. “I admire his stamina. Is he doing well as a midshipman? He seems quite young.”

“It is a good age to begin,” Gilpin said. “I was about that old when I began my career.”

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back in his earnest manner. “Miss Goodrich, I took the liberty of sending those books to your cabin.”

Julia Whipple tilted her head back and laughed at something Snowe said. I gritted my teeth. “Thank you, Mr. Gilpin. I look forward to reading them.”

Gilpin turned and spied Miss Whipple and Snowe. The first mate shook his head. “I am sorry about your brother,” he said softly.

“Phineas? Whatever for?”

Gilpin clucked. “He is shaming you by spending time with her. Their association might ruin your reputation. He should be thinking about that instead of himself.”

His solicitousness was irritating and altogether misplaced. “I have no concept of what society will be like in China, Mr. Gilpin. Perhaps such associations will not matter. Particularly if I live among the non-Christians.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You mean the Chinese? Why, you will never be able to do that, Miss Goodrich.”

“Why?”

“Because… because it simply is not done!”

“And why not?”

“Because you are an Englishwoman. Even though we are no longer on English soil, we are bound by her societal norms. You must not associate with Miss Whipple, and you will not live among the Chinese. No foreign women are allowed in Canton. You will, at best, live in Macao.”

“I cannot very well be a missionary to my own people,” I said. “What purpose would that serve?”

“Why, even we English need spiritual guidance. I am certain there is some useful work you can perform with the clergy who are already there.”

His bossiness grated. “But I could have stayed in Oxford were that all I hoped to accomplish.”

Mr. Gilpin shook his head. “Forgive me, Miss Goodrich. I know that your heart desires to reach the Chinese, but it is quite impossible.” He glanced over at Snowe and Miss Whipple again. “I blame your brother for not advising you on this before you went to so much trouble to follow him aboard this ship. If you will forgive me, it is clear he has little regard for anyone save himself. Rest assured that he has some ulterior motive.”

Why I desired to defend Phineas was beyond my understanding, especially since I was somewhat angry at him. “He did begin to teach me Chinese,” I said, then could not resist adding, “for my benefit. I do not appreciate your words about my brother, nor your inference regarding Miss Whipple. She has been naught but kind to me. I will not slight her.”

Gilpin glanced at Snowe and Miss Whipple, then touched his knuckles to his forehead in salute. “Forgive me, Miss Goodrich. Good day.”

“Good day,” I said, relieved to be rid of his company.

At the moment, I felt that I had not a friend aboard ship. Everyone seemed bent on telling me what I could and could not do. I confess that Gilpin’s words about Phineas took root, and I could not forget them. Captain Malfort approached me, a genuine smile on his face. After we exchanged pleasantries, I said, “Have you known my brother long?”

“Several years now,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“I have not seen him in a long while, and you know that we were not raised together. What sort of man would you say that he is?”

“He has always been a man of stellar reputation regarding the East India Company, Miss Goodrich. I am afraid that is all that I know. But to me it speaks well for a man’s character.”

If Mr. Gilpin knew something about Phineas Snowe, then it was not common knowledge. “Thank you, Captain. That puts my mind at rest.”

He scrutinized my expression. “You do not have cause for concern regarding your brother, do you?”

I shook my head, affecting a smile. “No, Captain. It was only idle curiosity, nothing more.”

He tipped his cap and went on his way. Miss Whipple and Snowe had drifted out of sight somewhere, and with a sigh, I determined to look for Gilpin’s books by returning to my cabin. Provided those two had not already taken up residence in there!

Once again that night I retired before Phineas. I managed to hang the canvas curtain by myself, but I heard him enter, undress for bed, and lie down in his hammock. After a while I expected to hear snoring but was surprised to hear his voice instead. “Are you still awake, Isabella?”

What could he want? “Yes.”

“You seemed distant this afternoon and evening. Are you well?”

“Since you have asked, I am experiencing some pain.”

“Truly?” I heard him sit up. “What can I do to help?”

“You can tell me why you ignored me in favor of Julia Whipple.”

He lay back down, a long sigh emanating. “She is alone on this voyage and has no friends. I feel sorry for her plight and merely try to bolster her spirits with my company from time to time.” He paused. “She thinks highly of you, Isabella, did you know?”

If he sought to flatter me… it worked. “Really? What did she-” I broke off. “You two discussed me,” I said, annoyance creeping into my voice.

“We discussed a great many things. It is not so large a ship that the primary travelers escape notice,” he said. “And now, would you like to hear more about Wo-Ping and Mei?”

I must confess that I did and was willing to, if not outright forgive, overlook the slights I had felt were dealt me. “I would indeed like to hear more,” I said, hating myself for giving in so easily. “But when will you reach the part about the swords? I am anxious to hear about Mei and Wo-Ping fighting. Who is the better swordsman?”

“That is yet to be determined,” he said. “Remember, too, that there are many weapons in China, not just swords. Different areas of the country have different weapons, as well as fighting skills.”

“What are some of the weapons?” I asked, temporarily forgetting the town of Hu-King.

“There are swords, which have two blades and can be broadswords, more like sabers, or heavier like cutlasses. Those with single blades are called knives. There are shorter butterfly swords, which are used in pairs. There are also emei, which have arrowlike points at each end. Then there are staffs, whips, and spears, not to mention axes, hammers, and cudgels. There are also throwing weapons-darts, arrows, sharpened stars, and blades.”

I could scarcely breathe for excitement. So many weapons, and I had spent a lifetime learning only one! “Perhaps Wo-Ping or Mei have skills in some of these weapons as well,” I said. The story would certainly be improved if this were true.

“Perhaps,” Phineas said vaguely. “Are you ready for me to begin?”

I wrapped the blankets securely around my neck, resisting the urge to kick my feet together like a child. “Yes, please.”

He cleared his throat. “Mei knew that Wo-Ping had the sympathy of the farmer as well as the villagers, but she also knew that he could not be trusted. She would bide her time, for she was not only a skilled warrior, but she was patient and clever…”

We fell into a sort of routine, one day much like another aboard the Dignity. Phineas seemed persuaded of my earnestness in learning Chinese, and we passed much of each day in study. He taught me much of the written language, which, though complicated, seemed to make a great deal of sense. Two or more pictures could create one new word. I learned over a thousand characters, which, he said, would probably make me a functional reader in China. Not, he said, that I was actually going there, of course!

At my request, Mr. Calow secured some precious paper for me, which I used to laboriously copy the Gospel According to St. Luke in Chinese. My characters did not look the same as Robert Morrison’s original, but I worked diligently and made several copies of the second chapter, the story of Jesus’ birth.

Snowe seemed surprised that I learned so well, but at last he agreed to teach me spoken words. I did not want to resort to writing or reading characters when we reached China (and I was going there!), no matter how easily it could be understood in many regions. He taught me that Chinese was a tonal language, unlike English. Each word had a particular pitch, and using the wrong one could change the meaning from one word to something completely different.

He taught me by day, and at night he continued the story of Mei and Wo-Ping. An evil landowner threatened much of the village, and the warriors put aside their differences in preparation to defend Hu-King. I sensed an undercurrent of distrust between the warriors and still believed that one day they would fight, but though I had initially sided with Mei in all things, I now harbored great sympathy for Wo-Ping as well. He had been the first to see the true goodness in her heart, but he waited patiently for her to reveal it.

The story so overwhelmed me that during the day I often remembered two things and at night forgot to ask: how much time had Phineas spent in China that he was able to spin folktales, and why had he not yet procured a sword for me?

I would like to say that I became better acquainted with my fellow travelers, but I did not have much use for their company beyond what was required at mealtimes. Mrs. Akers continued to dominate all conversation, though thankfully she had moved on to other subjects beyond the lack of physical similarities between Phineas and myself. Mr. Akers kept busy with company matters, as did Mr. Harrison, who apparently had taken the younger man under his wing. Personally, I believe Mr. Akers merely threw himself into work to avoid the bride that he by now may have regretted taking.

We saw little of Mrs. Harrison, who seemed to be either sleeping or in a constant stupor. I began to believe that she had a physical ailment of some sort that prevented her from staying awake long, until I noticed that Dr. Mortimer gave her a tiny bottle almost daily. When I asked Phineas about it, he sighed. “It is laudanum, Isabella.”

“From what does she suffer?” I said, alarmed.

“Malaise of life, I believe. I have my suspicions that Harrison chose China as a means of either ending his wife’s life or giving her reason to fully recover. She has used the drug for a long time now, I have heard it whispered.”

I did not have to ask who had done the whispering. Though he was more careful to spend most of the day with me, he still passed time with Julia Whipple. I had it in mind to speak directly with her, for I still felt it my duty to encourage her to seek a better life for herself once in China. I had heard that many of our fairer sex had to resort to desperate measures to survive, but I knew that there must be another situation for her.

Then one day I received an answer that I could only attribute to the Divine. While I had enjoyed the books Mr. Gilpin shared, I had not thought to use them for any other purpose save my own education and entertainment. But it occurred to me that perhaps I could loan them to Miss Whipple. Education, Uncle Toby had always said, was the key to unlock the doors of ignorance and poverty. While I would not deem her ignorant, for I thought her quite intelligent, actually, Miss Whipple could perhaps find a new life for herself as a governess if she but had the learning.

I found her one afternoon after dinner, lingering in the cuddy. Oblivious to the crew removing the dinnerware and leftover food, she stared at the wall as though a window would present itself. “Miss Whipple,” I said.

She turned, and for one moment I saw great sadness in her eyes. Then something shuttered her vulnerability, and she smiled at me. “Miss Goodrich. Are you looking for Phineas?”

“Not at all. It is your company I sought.”

“Have you and Phineas abandoned your lessons?”

“Only for a while. I find the Chinese words all run together if we spend too much time on them. I thought perhaps that different lessons might be in order.”

Her smile turned sardonic. “And what is it you would learn from me?”

“Quite the opposite. I thought perhaps you might be interested in learning with me.”

She laughed. “I have no use for Chinese, Miss Goodrich. The king’s English will do for my needs.”

I took a chair beside her. “Miss Whipple, may I be blunt?”

“Please do.”

She stared at me so coldly that I felt compelled to look away for a moment, then resolve steadied my nerves. “Have you had much education?”

“It depends on the sort of education you mean.”

I felt a blush creep around my neck. “Academic, of course. The truth is, Miss Whipple, that I have had the benefit of a good education. Some would say too much so, but that is neither here nor there. At any rate, I have no idea what purpose I will find in China, but perhaps it will be as a teacher. I have no experience as such, and I thought it might help me to practice, so to speak, with someone.”

“And you see me as that candidate?”

I nodded.

“Why?” She folded her arms.

I blew out a long breath. “You have admitted your purpose for moving to China. I propose to change that purpose. With a bit of learning…”

“Miss Goodrich.” She started to rise, apparently thought better of it, and sat down. “I have more learning than you will ever know. I believe you’re a kind soul, but either you’re too naïve to see life as it is or you choose to ignore its harshness. Either way, I feel sorry for you.”

I blinked. “You feel pity for me?”

“You think it’s the other way around, don’t you? You feel pity for me and think I have no voice in my future.”

“I have often thought that one’s past did determine the future, yes, but pity? I feel more… sadness. I want better for you.”

Miss Whipple leaned forward. “You’re a fool, Isabella Goodrich,” she said in a low voice. “You are being played for one, and yet you worry about my life. I should be the one to worry about you.”

“I… don’t understand.” Her words confused me.

“You know that Phineas spends time with me. What do you suppose we do?”

My mouth went dry. “I…”

“We talk,” she said. “Yes, that’s all we do. Talk. But I have heard quite an earful since I met Phineas Snowe.”

Tears stung my eyes. Afraid to hear more, I rose. “I do not think-”

She touched my wrist. “Sit down, Miss Goodrich. I’m telling you this because I admire you. Truly I do. You should know the truth.”

I sat, believing her words to be for my own good. “I am all attention. What should I know?”

“Phineas Snowe will never let you go to China. He will have you put off at Cape Town.”

I breathed a sigh. “I know that is what he says, but I believe he will change his mind.”

“Do you know why he cannot have you travel to Canton?”

I shook my head.

“He is not who he claims to be. He has worked for the East India Company for the last few years, it is true, but the purpose of his voyage is not to procure tea. Not for the company anyway.”

“Then what is it for?”

“He wants to find a special tea in China. Something that he believes will put the East India Company out of business. That is his life’s purpose. Everything he has done in the past few years has been to that end.”

“But why?”

“I’ll leave that much for you to ask him. Know only that he has deceived you from the moment he met you and has not ceased. He plans to leave you in Cape Town no matter how impressed he is with your learning his native language.”

“Chinese? That is his native tongue?”

She smiled. “Have you not noticed the structure of his face? His eyes? He wore spectacles at the party where he met you, did he not?”

“But… I do not understand.” My head swam with her words, which seemed to make no logical sense.

Miss Whipple rose. “Ask Phineas to explain himself. In the meantime, do not worry about my future, but take care for your own.”